BRIAN JACQUES
FLYING DUTCHMAN
ALSO BY BRIAN JACQUES
Copyright © 2001 by The Redwall Abbey Company, Ltd.
Illustrations copyright © 2001 by Ian Schoenherr
All rights reserved.
THE LEGEND OF THE
seaman could swear an oath that he had seen the phantom ship. Plowing an endless course over storm- tossed seas and
the deeps of mighty oceans. Many a night, mariners have sat together in lantern-lit fo'c'sle heads, speaking in hushed
tones of the vessel, and its master, Captain Vanderdecken. What awful curse sent the
eternal voyage, across the trackless watery wastes, from the Marquesas to the Arctic Circles, from the Coral Seas to
the Yucatan Straits, forever roaming alone. Whenever the ghostly craft is sighted, death is near. Bad fortune hovers
about those poor sailors, who see by chance what they wish their eyes had never witnessed.
The
Salt-stiff rigging and gale-torn sails flapping eerily, a barnacle-crusted prow, down by the bow in soughing
troughs of blue-green waves. Crewed by silent wraiths of humanity to whom time and the elements have no end.
Vanderdecken paces the quarterdeck, his face like ancient yellow parchment, hair laced by flying spume, wild,
hopeless eyes searching the horizons of the world. Bound to the sea for eternity. For what dread crime? Which
unspoken law of man, nature, or God, did he break? What dread nemesis doomed him, his crew, and their ship?
Who knows how it all began?
Only two living beings!
I take up my pen to tell you the tale.
THE SHIP
1.
COPENHAGEN. 1620.
THEY SAT FACING ONE ANOTHER ACROSS A table in the upper room of a drinking den known as the
Bar-bary Shark. Two men. One a Dutch sea captain, the other a Chinese gem dealer. Muffled sounds of foghorns from
the nighttime harbor, mingling with the raucous seaport din outside, passed unheeded. A flagon of fine gin and a
pitcher of water, close to hand, also stood ignored. In the dim, smoke-filtered atmosphere, both men's eyes were
riveted upon a small, blue velvet packet, which the gem dealer had placed upon the table.
Slowly he unwrapped the cloth, allowing a large emerald to catch facets of the golden lantern light. It
shimmered like the eye of some fabled dragon. Noting the reflected glint in the Dutchman's avaricious stare, the
Chinaman placed his long-nailed hand over the jewel and spoke softly. 'My agent waits in Valparaiso for the arrival
of a certain man—somebody who can bring home to me a package. It contains the brothers and sisters of this green
stone, many of them! Some larger, others smaller, but any one of them worth a fortune.
Riches to lire a man beyond his wildest dreams. He who brings the green stones to me must be a strong man,
commanding and powerful, able to keep my treasure from the hands of others. My friend, I have eyes and ears
everywhere on the waterfront. I chose you because I know you to be such a man!'
The captain's eyes, bleak and grey as winter seas, held the merchant's gaze. 'You have not told me what my
reward for this task will be.'
The gem dealer averted his eyes from the captain's fearsome stare. He lifted his hand, exposing the emerald's
green fire. 'This beautiful one, and two more like it upon delivery.'
The Dutchman's hand closed over the stone as he uttered a single word. 'Done!'
The boy ran, mouth wide open, gasping to draw in the fog-laden air. His broken shoes slapped wetly over the
harbor cobblestones. Behind him the heavy, well-shod feet of his pursuers pounded, drawing closer all the time. He
staggered, forcing himself to keep going, stumbling through pools of yellow tavern lights, on into the milky, muffling
